


you were angels, so much more than everything

by RattyCatty



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, Fix-It, Just gals being pals, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, So much smut, Tenderness, Underworld, also, also oq doesn't exist, and hook is a dick and elsewhere, bffs making love, confused sad emma, hint of kitten kink, passive aggressiveness @ ouat for fucking emma's character up, regina's in love just a bit, slightly subby emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6457837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RattyCatty/pseuds/RattyCatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Underworld, a distraught Emma realises she doesn't know what she wants. Regina swears to herself she's going to do all she can to pick Emma up, to bring her fire back, to make her realise just how much she's worth. Season 5B fix-it fic in which BFFs make love, gals be pals, Regina is in love, and Emma is a slight sub. Pure smut with some angst, fluff, and character analysis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you were angels, so much more than everything

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I'm really sorry for not posting in forever, but I've been busy with school and life, and OUAT's been pretty uninspiring lately - between Once Upon A Captain Swan and the complete destruction of Emma's character...yeah.
> 
> Also, if anyone's still waiting for chapter 3 of Corrupt, I apologise for how long it's taking, but it's nearly there. Thank you for being patient!
> 
> Ahead: Underworld angst and fluff, BFFs making love, gals being pals, slightly sub!Emma, and a hint of kitten kink. Also, Regina's in love, OQ doesn't exist, and Hook is a dick and elsewhere.
> 
> Contains mentions of Hook, but only in the "fuck that guy" way. Implied results of emotional abuse but only as featured on the show. Explicit smut and swearing, and some alcohol. Very slight D/s dynamics and kink in that Regina calls Emma a 'good girl' and 'kitten', so be aware if that's something that icks you.
> 
> Feedback is always really great and makes my day, so if you have time, feel free to tell me something you liked or didn't like :)

She’s muted, these days – red-rimmed eyes and pale, washed-out hair taking the place of fiery defiance and bright, golden locks. The signature red jacket’s still there, but it seems more like a front, like Emma desperately clinging to anything that is reminiscent of her old self and yet being so far from it.

People change and grow, Regina knows better than anyone, but this isn’t growth – this quiet sadness, dull emptiness, it’s ghostly, it’s life stemmed just as things had started to fall together for Emma.

Hook’s death (or Hook himself, Regina thinks, because the life had started seeping out of the saviour even before the pirate’s demise) has taken a toll on her to say the least.

Regina, for the most part, has tried to keep her distance. She’s bitten her tongue when all she wants to do is shout at the blonde to get it together, to let go of the pirate who forced her walls down and then leeched the life out of her. (He is _dead_ after all, and dead is dead, or so Regina’s been told so many times throughout her turbulent life.) All this, because the last thing she wants to do is push Emma away and disrespect her freedom of choice as so many others have.

It’s getting ridiculous now, though – there’s only so much time you can spend sitting back and letting your best friend – because that’s what Emma is to her now, regardless of whether Regina wants more or not – destroy herself over a dead man. It’s been two weeks in this version of Storybrooke where everything is topsy-turvy and _wrong_ , two weeks and the pirate is slipping further and further away from them. There have been moments when they thought they’d got him and could get out of this place, but each time he falls through their fingers once more, yanked away from them by Hades like a toy.

They’re nothing but playthings in this hellish playground of his.

They’re a band of heroes, and there’s more history between them than anyone could comprehend. Collectively, they’ve been through everything that could reasonably be thrown at them, and they’ve pulled through, strong as ever.

But there’s no way to win here, not whilst Hades is in control.

So the answer is simple in theory: get rid of Hades.

If it were only that easy.

That’s why they’re all living at Regina’s house for the moment, one big Happy Family™, like sitting ducks as they gather their strength and plan what they’re going to do next.

The sky is dark and hazy, and she’s sitting in the garden with a glass of red wine – “her” wine collection here is only slightly worse than her real one at home, she’s pleasantly surprised to find. There’s not a star in sight and there’s a biting chill in the air, one that nibbles at her fingers and travels down her spine to settle as thick anxiety in her stomach. Or maybe that’s the magic, because the magic here is so very dark, and she can _taste_ it on her tongue and in the back of her throat, metallic and sickly and suffocating, worse than she’s ever known in her life.

Henry’s tucked up in his bed, safe and warm and loved, and the Charmings have turned in, though she has no interest in knowing what they’re really doing besides licking one another’s wounds – she may be reformed and more hopeful than before, but the Charming way of loving is still as sickly to her as it ever was.

Robin went back up to the surface within the first week, back to his son and his new daughter who need him ever so much. He’s taking care of things on the surface, standing in as sheriff and such, and it’s better this way because at least he’s not down here with her, desperately trying to make up for things that aren’t his fault and smothering her with all that love and honour of his. They’re friends, but nothing more anymore; their time has been and gone, and some things aren’t just supposed to be.

So it’s just her, here in the cool, misty garden.

Or not.

A creak as the backdoor opens, a soft, weary voice:

“Can I join you?”

And the anxiety churning inside her eases just a little, as Emma steps outside and shuts the door with a quiet click.

Regina tilts her head towards the empty seat across the table, a silent “of course”.

The blonde sits down, hands knotting together in her lap, and she refuses to meet Regina’s eyes – not in any way maliciously, but as if she thinks she’s somehow unworthy.

God, the pirate and his son of a bitch brother have really done a number on her.

“Wine?” Regina offers coolly.

Emma exhales, drops her head slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “ _Please.”_

With a flick of her hand, a second crystal wine glass appears in front of the blonde, and Emma pours herself a generous glass, so the crimson liquid is nearly reaching the rim. She takes a deep drink, a small, blissful sound coming from the back of her throat, and then tops it up again.

Regina snorts. “Careful, dear,” she says. “I don’t want to have to carry you to bed tonight.”

A soft blush blooms across Emma’s cheeks at the double entendre, but she rolls her eyes all the same as she speaks, her voice weary, always so weary. “Yeah, right. What glass are you on, Your Majesty?”

A quirk of a perfectly-sculpted brow and a nonchalant shrug to hide discomfort at the outdated moniker and Emma’s flat tone. “Touché.” She’s nearly finished her second in an hour, and yes, it may be going to her head just slightly.

Silence falls over them for a good while, as they both sip their wine and think until one of them is ballsy (or tipsy) enough to say something – because neither of them are fans of small talk.

It’s Emma who speaks first, surprisingly, but Regina thinks it would have to be – because she herself is not about to ruin this odd sort of peace by pushing Emma before she’s ready.

“I really thought we’d get out of here today,” she mumbles. “I really–” She cuts herself off, instead taking another swig of wine.

“Hades is a piece of work, that’s for sure,” the brunette murmurs. They’d been so close to getting out – they’d even got as far as _boarding the goddamn boat_ before Hades caught up with them and everything blew up in their faces. Now Snow has a few broken ribs (fixed with magic as best as possible, but still painful and healing) and they’re all feeling a bit more bruised and defeated, and Hook is back with Hades with double the security, and it’s going to be so much harder to break him out next time. “But Emma, it’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

When Regina looks over at Emma this time, she’s put her glass down and is gripping the table with white knuckles, like this moment is the most important moment of her life, the deciding factor in the debate whether she is or isn’t to blame. Her eyes are wide and wet and, god, so desperate.

“I led you all down here,” she protests, and maybe she’s starting to get tipsy because the words just roll off her tongue before she can bite them back. “I didn’t get in front of Snow in time, I let _our son_ come with us to this _shithole,_ I made Hook the Dark One, I–”

“ _Emma,”_ Regina growls. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Pity parties don’t help anything – you know that.”

Because everything’s coming out, everything that is festering inside of Emma, all the guilt she’s harbouring, is pouring out, and Regina _doesn’t want to hear it._ She doesn’t want to hear all the self-hatred Emma is holding inside of herself because of a situation gone admittedly very wrong with her pirate – not because of the man who’d turned on her in a heartbeat when things hadn’t gone his way.

And if she hears Emma take everything on herself, she might just end up reaching over and throttling her in the hopes of knocking some damn sense into her. Yes, Emma was selfish in starting this rescue mission, and yes, she killed Hook (not that she had a choice), but Regina sees red when she thinks of the ways this man has ruined a woman once so full of fire and defiance and how Emma continues to put it all on herself.

Instead, she starts talking again before Emma can. “Do you really think you could make any of us do anything we didn’t want to? We’re all here because we’re your _family,_ and we want you to be happy. If it takes bringing the pirate back, then that’s what we’ll do.”

There’s a pause. “Why are you here, Regina?” Her voice is small and confused, like she really doesn’t understand why Regina would possibly come on what’s starting to become a suicide mission.

“Did you not hear a word I just said?”

“No, I – there’s more, isn’t there?”

And Emma’s more perceptive than she lets on sometimes, because as much as Regina hates it, she’s right. Not that she’ll admit that – not when they’ve come all the way down here to rescue Emma’s _boyfriend._

_“Emma.”_

“Why did you break up with Robin?” Emma asks, and it sounds sudden but it’s not and Emma’s on to her, she’s sure.

Regina shrugs and finds she can’t meet the earnest green eyes that are glued to her. “It just wasn’t working after everything that happened.”

Then Emma’s standing, and moving around the table to stand in front of Regina. Before Regina knows what’s happening, the blonde is in her lap, their noses inches apart. Their whole dynamic seems to shift, and the line between friendship and something more blurs beyond recognition. 

“So not because there was someone else?” Emma sounds so needy and _sensual_ at the same time somehow, and Regina can feel the other woman’s breath on her face, warm and wine-scented and seductive.

God, she hasn’t had enough to drink to deal with this yet.

Or maybe she’s had too much, because for the third time in only minutes, Emma’s name is slipping from her lips, breathy and barely audible, and she’s powerless to stop it.

“Careful,” she manages lowly. “You don’t want this.”

Something in Emma flares up at that – _I_ want _people to stop telling me what I want –_ but she won’t ruin the moment – if this counts as a Moment at all.

Instead, Emma just whispers fervently, “I _do._ I want this,” and then, “I want you.”

Regina shakes her head, pulls back slightly in an attempt to have a clear thought. “Maybe, but you’ll regret it when we find Hook.”

The woman in her lap looks like she’s about to cry, then, and she sits back, putting some space between them. “Maybe.”

Sighing, Regina rests her hands lightly on the knees that are either side of her, allows her concern to show on her face. “Emma, what do you want, really?”

She shrugs, the movement minute. “Hook’s easy and he – he loves me, I think, and my parents like him.” She stops, and suddenly seems slightly more _here_ than she has in weeks. “But I like being with you, and I like when we spend time with Henry. It feels right.”

Regina’s heart just about melts, and her hands tighten slightly on Emma’s knees. A puff of breath leaves her, and she yearns to pull Emma closer, to kiss her until they can’t breathe and everything is right again. This is Emma’s choice, though, and she won’t push her into something she’s not certain she wants.  So she waits.

Emma watches her for a long moment; her open face and wide, deep, brown eyes that give away everything Regina’s feeling in that moment and how she’s leaving this all completely up to Emma – it feels more like love than anything she’s ever felt with Hook, and her mind feels made up in that moment.

“I want you to make me feel good,” she breathes, leaning in close again, her hip shifting until her body is nearly pressed against Regina’s.

And Regina’s only got so much self-control; Emma has given her the go-ahead on touching her, so she does.

One hand moves up to cup Emma’s jaw, whilst the other slides up Emma’s leg – slow and tentative at first, and then quicker when Emma makes no move to stop her – to the top of her thigh where it stops for now, squeezing lightly.

And then they’re kissing, mouths meeting, lips already parted, and it’s all Regina had imagined and more. Heat prickles over her skin despite the chill in the air as Emma makes a soft sound in the back of her throat and knots her hands in smooth, dark hair.

Emma’s hips are moving, grinding, so Regina cups her behind with both hands and pulls her closer, closing the small gap between their bodies. Finally finding friction, Emma whimpers again, and then she’s reaching down between them to undo the button on her jeans with fumbling hands.

A gentle hand settles on top of Emma’s, and they break apart, both breathing heavily. “Not here,” Regina says, and waits for Emma’s nod of agreement before waving a hand and poofing them upstairs to Regina’s bedroom.

They land on the bed in the same position, Regina sitting on the edge with Emma in her lap, and the blonde finds herself extremely grateful that she’s got used to magical transport now because vomiting would be a slight mood killer.

Regina rests a hand on the hem of Emma’s ivory jumper. “May I?”

After a nod from Emma, the brunette slides both hands underneath the soft wool, fingertips gliding appreciatively over smooth, tense muscles for a moment before pushing the material up. There’s a second of awkwardness as Emma raises her arms and helps pull the jumper over her head, but then the moment has passed and the jumper is gone, revealing an expanse of creamy skin.

Emma stands, wriggling out of her jeans as if she knows Regina wouldn’t know where to start with removing the skin-tight denim. She nearly falls over in the process, and when she settles back into Regina’s lap she finds an amused smile on those painted lips. “Shut up,” she chuckles, batting lightly at the queen’s shoulder.

“Wasn’t going to say anything, dear,” Regina responds playfully.

Before Emma can retort, lithe fingers are unhooking her bra with practiced ease, letting the straps fall down her arms until it drops to the floor.

Regina looks on at her with awe in her eyes, like there’s a goddess before her very eyes. She thinks there is – Emma might as well be one.

“You’re beautiful,” Regina murmurs, and leans down to kiss the top of one breast before Emma can start squirming under her gaze. She presses a light kiss to the other breast, and then her lips graze Emma’s sternum, followed by her nose, trailing a path as Regina – a _queen –_ all but worships the woman in her lap.

She thinks this might not be how it’s supposed to go – they haven’t set out rules but they’re not lovers (or, they weren’t half an hour ago) and so this should be so much more casual. It’s just sex, and yet it’s so much more, because they share a connection, and Emma deserves so much more than just a quick dirty fuck.

Especially in her current state, with dull eyes and low self-esteem and a dead boyfriend who will never be deserving of someone like Emma Swan.

Emma deserves more.

Regina thinks Emma deserves more than an ex-evil queen too, but Emma had asked, and Regina won’t deny her of this if she truly wants it.

Emma’s breath hitches in response, and Regina’s hands run up her sides in a soothing manner. “You are,” she mumbles against the blonde’s left breast. She plants a feather-light kiss on the nipple before massaging it gently with her thumb until it hardens.

Electricity courses through Emma’s body with each circular motion, and she thinks she’s never gained so much pleasure just from her breasts before, but then Regina’s mouth settles over the other, and _oh,_ it just gets better _._

The older woman’s warm tongue runs over the already-hard nipple, leaving no ground uncovered, and then her teeth nip at it ever so gently, not enough to hurt but enough to make the blonde yelp and buck her hips. Emma sighs her name, dropping her head to kiss Regina’s temple.

God, this is all so tender, and it should make Emma want to run in the other direction but it _doesn’t,_ and this feels so right – like this is where she’s supposed to be – in Regina’s arms rather than beneath Hook.

And it’s so confusing because she loves Hook, right? She does. She tells herself she does. Yet she’s never felt anywhere near as strongly about him as she has about Regina – for better and worse. They’ve hated and they’ve loved, but either way, the feeling has always been strong and mutual.

Emma thinks maybe that’s what is important, and what makes them so good together – because whichever way, they’ve put their all into it and it’s been passionate and difficult and somehow worth it all.

Regina’s teeth graze her nipple once more, drawing Emma out of her thoughts, and then she _sucks_ and Emma thinks she might come right there without Regina even touching her between her thighs where she’s throbbing.

“ _God,_ Regina,” she moans, hands tangled in dark hair pulling her closer as her back arches towards Regina’s touch. The brunette just chuckles around the pebbled nipple and then lets it go, leaning up to pull Emma into another searing kiss, tongues brushing together in a way that makes the blonde’s underwear even more damp.

The blonde is only vaguely aware of Regina’s hand inching down her stomach until it slips beneath the waistband of her pastel blue cotton panties (if she’d known she’d be getting some, she’d have dressed for the occasion, but alas) and then stops.

“Are you wet for me, Emma?”

If she hadn’t been before (which, god, she had been) then she certainly was now. Fresh heat pools between her thighs at Regina’s words and the throbbing reaches almost painful levels. She hadn’t pegged Regina one for dirty talk, and that makes it all the more hotter.

“Yes,” she breathes, a high-pitched tone in her voice signalling her arousal. She squirms in anticipation, hips moving impatiently, and swallows audibly.

Regina watches the other woman shift and fidget, and feels herself getting wet at the sight, but this is about Emma, not her, and she’s more than content with their current state.

Finally, her hand moves lower, swiping once slowly all the way through Emma’s wetness. Regina can’t stop the groan that escapes her, and she drops her head onto Emma’s shoulder, takes a deep breath because yes, Emma is _so_ wet and warm and she wants to just take her right now.

Gathering Emma’s arousal on her fingertips, she pulls away, instead bringing her fingers up to rest on the soft pink of Emma’s lips. “Open,” she directs, and the blonde parts her lips, taking Regina’s fingers into her mouth and whimpering at the taste of herself, tangy and intoxicating. Her tongue trails over every inch of Regina’s fingers until she’s gleaned all she can.

“Very good,” Regina murmurs, removing her wet fingers and kissing Emma, moaning herself when she can taste traces of Emma’s arousal.

Moving lower once more, her fingers find Emma’s clit and move in slow, circular motions, never rushing regardless of how much she wants to. The sounds Emma is making are positively delicious, but a little loud for a house full of relatives, so she flicks her free hand once, sound-proofing the room.

Only minutes later, Emma is gasping out, “Inside, I need you inside,” as her hips roll and buck against skilled fingers.

Regina obeys, slipping a single finger inside the younger woman, rubbing her inner walls. When Emma whines in annoyance, she adds another, pulls out almost all the way, and then pushes back in.

“Fuck,” is what she gets in response, strained and breathy as Emma rides her fingers as if her life depends on it. “ _Regina,_ god!”

“Not quite, dear,” the brunette says with a smirk that Emma hears rather than sees. She nips the shell of the blonde’s ear playfully. “Do you think you can manage another?”

“Fuck yes,” Emma moans, words trailing off into senseless mumbling when a third finger enters her slowly, carefully, Regina’s thumb still working against her clit.

“Good girl,” Regina praises softly, and her words alone spur Emma on, prompt more wetness to spill over slim fingers and draw needy whimpers from the other woman. Regina’s lips twist into a smile again. “Oh, you like that do you?”

Emma doesn’t answer, just nods once and bears down on Regina’s fingers with more vigour, every thrust matched with a moan. She’s close, Regina can tell.

Pressing another kiss to Emma’s throat, Regina curls her fingers, grazing the rough patch inside Emma that makes her moan loudest. “Come for me, kitten,” she says firmly, and Emma does, god, she does.

Emma clenches around Regina’s fingers as if on cue, body arching and tensing so much she looks like she might snap, and she looks magnificent like this – head tipped back, throat bobbing slightly, a sheen of sweat on her creamy skin, and every toned muscle standing out as her body curves.

Then she’s moaning, loud and unchecked and slightly broken in the middle, and there’s hot liquid spilling over Regina’s hand and the dark leggings she’s still wearing, and Emma’s body is shaking and then collapsing against Regina, entirely spent and satiated.

And Regina supposes she’s done a decent job, because Emma is slack against her, unconscious.

Kicking her boots off, she shifts backwards to the middle of the bed, drawing Emma with her before she sets the blonde gently down on the bed and pulls a thin blanket over her naked body. Then, Regina goes about removing her own clothes, only laying down next to Emma once she’s comfortable in clean leggings and a lace camisole.

She thinks that this is what peace is; a quiet house full of family, and someone sleeping quietly in her bed with her. They’re in the underworld and there’s still ugly shit hanging over them, but for now, it feels like they might manage. The taste of dark magic is less now, and she can sense Emma’s light magic humming away inside her subconsciously, warm and tasting of cinnamon and sugar.

Emma wakes a couple of minutes later, stretching out and rubbing at her eyes, smearing her eye-makeup but being too drowsy to care.

Rolling onto her side and reaching out to run a hand over soft blonde hair, Regina speaks softly. “How are you doing?”

Emma just shifts closer, pushing the blanket away before curling into Regina’s warm, solid form and resting her head on Regina’s tummy. “Better,” she murmurs as her fingers trail absently over the fabric that hugs Regina’s abdomen. Her face crumples a little. “I’m so confused,” she says, barely audible.

“That’s understandable,” Regina reassures, her fingers running through silky blonde hair.

Emma glances up at her. “Yeah?”

“You’re not the first person to be torn between following your heart and satisfying the people around you,” Regina promises, hoping she hasn’t read Emma terribly wrong. “It’s natural, but your mother and father – they’re not the people who have to live with whatever choice you make.”

“That’s the problem! I don’t know what one to make,” Emma says, and it’s evident in her tone that she’s getting increasingly distressed. Any relaxing effect her orgasm may have had has dissipated.

“This isn’t – a marriage proposal, Emma,” the brunette says, as much as it pains her to, because it’s _not;_ if Emma wants this to just be a quick fuck, then so be it – Regina will manage (though she deeply hopes she won’t have to try). “And nothing’s forcing you to stay with Hook if by some miracle we get out of here. I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d say the Charming logic of ‘following your heart’ is a good place to start.”

The blonde resting against her exhales, murmurs, “Alright,” and it’s not an answer to anything, but it’s an, “I’ll think about it,” and it’s better.

They fall silent for a long moment, Emma’s brain working so hard that Regina can practically hear the cogs spinning. The blonde squirms for a minute, kicking off uncomfortably soaked underwear before settling once more. Then, fingers that have been tracing patterns over soft fabric slip a little lower, beneath the hem of Regina’s camisole to touch tantalizingly smooth skin.

Scratching gently with her short nails earns Emma a quiet sound from the back of Regina’s throat, and she wants to hear it again and again, but then the brunette’s hands are moving down to cover hers, stopping them in their tracks.

“Emma.”

The blonde withdraws, and looks up at Regina, studying her face. “Do you not want…”

“I–” And what the hell does she say? She can’t lie, because, god, she _does_ want, she wants so badly, but this isn’t what she had in mind when she took Emma in her lap tonight and kissed the air out of her lungs. Regina didn’t start this with ulterior motives of getting some herself, and she doesn’t want Emma thinking that that’s the only reason she did this; she knows what it’s like to warm someone’s bed when they only want pleasure for themselves, and she doesn’t wish that on Emma. “It’s not – this is about you. I can wait.”

Emma cocks her head in that way she does so often. “But you do want this?”

Regina pushes her head further back into the soft pillow and huffs.

“I want to touch you so much, Regina, but only if you want it.” The saviour’s braver now, and when Regina meets her eyes they appear a little brighter, a little more like the old Emma. (Not that Regina thinks an orgasm is going to fix all of Emma’s problems – the idea is a little gross – but she thinks that maybe some of the love and tenderness she’s shown the saviour tonight has seeped into her bones, warmed her core and brought some of her life back.)

And the last of Regina’s resolve crumbles just like that. “Ok,” she agrees, hardly audible even in the silent house.

“Thank you,” Emma whispers vehemently, and it’s not clear what’s she’s saying thank you for, but it warms Regina’s heart all the same.

Emma leans down to press her lips against Regina’s exposed abdomen, a barely-there graze at first, followed by her tongue snaking out to glide over olive skin. Regina lets out a breath, quiet and shaky as if she’s trying to prepare herself for the onslaught of _feelings_ she’s sure will come with whatever Emma’s about to do.

Those same fingers travel a little lower, running over the hem of Regina’s leggings and then slipping beneath it. They’re searching, searching, searching for some way to express her gratitude for tonight and everything Regina has done for her during their unexpected but successful friendship, and then they hit lace, and Emma _knew_ it (not that she spends a lot of time thinking about Regina’s underwear but – she kind of does.)

Pink lips quirk into a smug smile, and she’s leaning down again, this time to nip lightly at Regina’s tummy. It earns her a frustrated whine – a _whine –_ the Evil fucking Queen does not _whine,_ Regina swears internally, but Emma _knows._

“Be patient,” Emma says, pushing herself up into a half-sitting position, propped up on one arm so she can see Regina’s face more easily. “Sit up a sec.”

“Giving orders now, are we?” the older woman teases with a smirk but obliges all the same. Emma’s mouth is on hers again in a split second, and the camisole is being pushed further and further up Regina’s torso until they have to separate so the blonde can pull it over the brunette’s head. It gets thrown across the room somewhere, and neither of them can particularly care where it lands.

Emma just gazes in open-mouthed admiration for a bit, drinks in the sight of radiant olive skin stretched over defined muscle and defined ribs. Regina’s muscles are tight yet subtle – soft curves rather than the sharp lines of Emma’s – and Emma finds she rather likes it.

“It’s bad form to stare at a queen, dear,” Regina jests, but there’s no venom and she even _preens_ slightly under Emma’s scrutiny. Her hand trails absently from her jaw to her tight stomach, ghosting over a soft breast in a way that makes the dusky nipple harden, even with the feather light touch, a testament to just how keyed up she is.

The sheriff just scoffs, her mouth slightly dry at the sight of Regina touching herself and the pure lust Emma finds when she meets heated dark eyes. She moves forward, reaches out to toy absently with the other nipple until it pebbles under her touch and the brunette sucks in a breath. Electricity sparks through her nerves and terminates wet and hot between her thighs, and oh gods, already she’s ready enough that this light foreplay is torture.

“Lower,” she mumbles. “God, _lower.”_

Emma smirks at the neediness, the way Regina’s words crack and her thighs part.

And then she’s shifting again, settling on her belly between the queen’s thighs to grant her better access to where she so desperately wants to be. Both hands tug at the leggings, and Regina raises her hips to aid Emma in removing the clothing. Her back arches, and Emma stares appreciatively for a moment as muscles in her abdomen tense and relax. Regina is one hell of a sight, stretched out, bare and wanting before Emma in the dim moonlight that filters through the gap between the curtains, and all Emma wants to do is fucking _devour_ her, make her come undone beneath her touch, make her scream the goddamn house down.

The leggings slide over Regina’s shapely ass as Emma springs back into action with a fervency she hasn’t felt since before going down her dark path all those months ago.

Once they’re off, they join the camisole somewhere in the darkness, and Emma presses her nose to the lace of Regina’s panties. The tip trails over Regina’s clit, drawing another irresistible whimper from the older woman, louder this time.

God, Emma can _smell_ how eager she is, and it makes her mouth water. Self-indulgently and ever so lightly so as to not give Regina too much pleasure before they’ve even begun, she flattens her warm tongue against the fabric, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Another whimper, and Emma feels lithe fingers tangle into her hair (Regina doesn’t tug, though, doesn’t pull at the soft hair too hard, not yet, and Emma’s heart warms even though the caution is unnecessary.)

When the blonde’s tongue traces a line down the increasingly damp fabric, Regina’s head tips back, and Emma glances up to see the column of Regina’s throat undulate as she swallows.

She’s fucking gorgeous, and Emma thinks she’d kneel at her feet a thousand times over if it meant she got to do this every day.

A small part of her brain tells her _she can_ if only she makes the right choice but…that means letting Hook down and disappointing her parents _again_ and yeah – now is so not the time for these thoughts.

Instead, Emma focuses her all on pleasuring Regina, and then her tongue reaches Regina’s slick opening, and if the lace were any colour other than black, there would be a visibly dark patch forming because Regina is _so wet._ Emma presses her tongue hard against the queen’s entrance – ever so nearly enters her and is only stopped by the fabric not stretching enough – and she can taste her now, tangy and heady and delicious and she craves more, more, more.

So does Regina, judging by the way she lays back down and groans, bucking into Emma’s touch. “Emma,” she all but gasps. “Please.”

Emma licks back up over the lace with increased pressure, flicks her tongue a couple of times against Regina’s covered clit in a way that makes the woman cry out in frustration and rock her hips almost violently towards Emma in search of any friction.

With a chuckle, Emma decides it’s possibly in her best interest to not tease too much – she’d rather not be charred to a crisp, because she’s enjoying this just a bit. She grabs the hem of the lace underwear and pulls them as low as they’ll go without Regina’s help. “Up,” she orders, trusting Regina will understand.

She does, and then her back is arcing again, breasts being pushed up into the air, and the lace is yanked down her legs and thrown onto the floor, leaving her bare.

And Emma, god, she actually groans at the sight before her.

A trimmed, kempt strip of dark hair just above her clit is the first thing to catch her eye before she lowers her gaze and _fuck,_ Regina is glistening, thighs parted desperately to reveal her soaked sex.

The saviour’s getting wet again herself just from the visual stimulus, and when she leans in again to kiss Regina’s innermost thigh, one hand snakes between her own legs to stem the relentless throbbing.

She tries to go slow, she really, truly does, but Regina smells too good, looks too good, and all Emma can do is place a kiss right on Regina’s clit and try not to just enter her at that moment.

Not that it seems Regina would mind – she’s grabbing at her own breasts like her life depends on it, rolling her hard nipples between her fingers and arching up into the touch, swallowing back moans.

Still. Emma wants to take her time as much as she can, and that means not taking Regina right this moment.

Her tongue traces over Regina’s outer labia, slow and teasing, and only when Regina is pulling her hair does she lick where the queen wants her.

She licks ever so slowly from Regina’s entrance to her clit, flattening her tongue to taste every inch of her and then circling the brunette’s throbbing clitoris. It’s Regina’s throaty moan, the loudest yet, which makes Emma rub her own clit with vigour, and then she’s moaning too before she can bite it back.

Regina opens her eyes and looks down, catching sight of Emma and, more importantly, the hand between her own legs. The sight makes her wetter still, and she manages to say, “Emma,” before trailing off into another moan drawn from her by the blonde’s ministrations.

Emma just passes off the use of her name as another moan, another delicious plea for more friction, but then Regina pulls her hair, requesting her to come up for air for a second.

“Emma,” she repeats, her breath heavy. “Bring that pretty ass of yours up here.”

And it takes a minute for Emma to realise what Regina wants, but then she’s the one groaning again, and she’s turning her body and shifting up the bed until her sex is hovering over Regina’s face, her tongue never leaving Regina’s folds.

Regina’s arms wrap tightly Emma’s thighs and pull down until warm wet is meeting her waiting tongue and smearing over her chin.

And, jesus fuck, Emma thinks that this is her happy place, where she was born to be, because Regina is placing short licks on her clit, eating her with every bit of Regina Mills passion, and Regina’s arousal is all she can taste and smell, making her face slick, and her _moans_ are music to Emma’s fucking ears _._

Regina’s hips buck into her face wildly, like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it, and Emma, both hands now free, places one finger experimentally against Regina’s opening, checking she’s ready. God, she must be, because on the next roll of her hips, the finger slides in with ease and the queen’s tongue stops its movements for a minute as she gasps at the intrusion.

A second finger enters her when Regina growls, “More,” and then a third until Emma is fucking Regina using her whole arm to build momentum. The sheer feral sounds coming from the queen’s throat make Emma grind against the brunette’s face, slow to begin with, her speed increasing with every one of Regina’s muffled moans until she’s full-on riding the queen’s face – queening the queen.

Each groan that slips from Regina’s lips vibrates against her clit, and god, she’s going to fucking come just from rocking against the brunette’s skilled tongue, and she prays to god Regina is close too because between her first, earth-shattering orgasm and the oncoming one, she’s exhausted.

Her lips close around Regina’s clit and she sucks, fingers still pounding into the older woman, the sound of flesh against flesh and desperate, _loud_ moans filling the room. (She fucking hopes Regina sound-proofed the room at some point during her first orgasm because _god,_ if Snow was to hear this, or, god-forbid, Henry, then – no, it’s too embarrassing to think about, and she’s not equipped to deal with an aneurism.)

Regina tightens around her, then, muscles clenching almost painfully around Emma’s fingers, and her hips buck hard, and she _screams – she made fucking Regina Mills scream!_ – wordless and hoarse and feral. She’s coming hard, liquid spilling out of her, and she turns her head and bites down hard on Emma’s inner thigh.

And Emma’s hips keep moving all the while, against Regina’s cheek when she twists her head, and she’s nearly there, nearly there, _nearly there –_

She’s there, coming with Regina, and it’s not as powerful as her first orgasm, but fuck, it’s still mind-blowing, and she’s got Regina’s taste in her mouth and her bruising teeth-mark on her thigh, and _holy fucking christ._

Emma’s barely aware of Regina’s name spilling from her mouth over and over, and then –

The mirror on the dresser shatters as a flash of shared magic, violet and silver blurring together, explodes out of the both of them.

And finally, after what feels like forever, their orgasms abate, fading until their bodies are liquid and too sensitive to remain in their current position.

Emma rolls off Regina and settles on her back next to her, panting and sweating and slick with Regina’s arousal. Regina has an arm thrown over her eyes, gasping for breath.

There’s a shattered mirror but it doesn’t feel at all like bad luck. There’s glass on the floor and two naked, sweating, thoroughly spent bodies, and someone’s going to need to magically clean the sheets because they’re damp with sweat and other fluids, but for the first time in months, everything is ok.

For the first time in months, it feels like they have a hope in hell of surviving and living long, healthy, _normal_ lives. For the first time in months, they feel light, and for tonight, in this moonlight bedroom full of the heady, sweet scent of sex and their shared magic, in their nest of sheets, there’s no one else but them in the world.

Emma, finally catching her breath, curls up into Regina’s body, her face hidden in the crook of the queen’s neck. Their hot, sweat-slicked bodies slide together and it’s not the most comfortable, but it feels good and right; Regina’s arms are around her waist, and their legs are tangled together, and right now, they’re not the Evil Queen or the Saviour, not even Mayor Mills and Sheriff Swan.

Right now, they’re just Emma and Regina – women who have been through so much shit and survived, women who have overcome their worst fears and the worst parts of themselves to be the best they can for their son and for themselves.

They’re just Emma and Regina, and Emma thinks that maybe, just maybe, she knows what the right choice is. 


End file.
